day of documenatries

It was wildly windy and rain strewn today. I didn't have to do anything in particular so I had a wonderful day of pottering about, watching many documentaries and playing with flowers. I made a few posies, which are pretty much my favourite thing to do. I used paper daisies {which I've only recently come to appreciate properly-or at all}, anemone [which means 'daughter of the wind'], blushing bride tiny eucalyptus, thryptomene and erica carnea.
I watched one doc about Manic Depression presented/investigated by Stephen Fry, Terry Prachett on a right to death {I grew up reading Prachett novels and news that he was diagnosed with alzheimer's felt oddly personal and watching him discussing this debate was heart breaking}, then I watched one called 'Do You Want to Live Forever?' [note: Aubrey-hugely impressive beard], which focused on Aubrey de Grey's work. So strange. I cannot imagine wanting to live forever. There was a wonderful comment by the lovely late John Mortimer {who lived in a wisteria covered cottage, of course} about what he called the 'artistic necessity of death' that a painting or play or life needs a frame or final curtain and that being here for a short amount of time in between "two vast eternities makes life rather noble in a way and quite significant." Oh John, I think he articulated it perfectly.
I watched them on http://documentaryheaven.com which has so very many to stream. I watched a very very interesting and unsettling one about ants {I didn't like that the narrator kept calling them 'aliens' but it was otherwise great and had a bit about their use of chemicals to control aphids-poor aphids}
I also drank quite a bit of earl grey and made some marmalade with rosemary and brandy.
What I learnt today: you can't always unquestioningly believe what men with beards tell you.

poppies {icelandic}

I gathered some poppies, placed them on the window sill and think I might just sit, watch and waiting for them to bloom. They are so heart breaking. They struggle in their weird hairy drooping little pods and suddenly unfold with the most incredibly endearing delicacy. I've had some in the garden and even the lightest falling of rain makes them drop their petals. I don't really understand how they survive {but ever so glad they do}. I love that their petals aren't ordered and look sort of rumpled.

I sort of feel like I can hear this poppy's sigh

success

On the first Wednesday in August, two friends and I hosted a film-picnic-flower strewn night at 77 George St, The Rocks. It was quite a lovely night. We covered the roof in flowers, vines, cherry blossoms, lace, linen, paper ships, old maps, glass bottles, little poems and letters. I made lemon, thyme and lavender coconut slice, salted hazelnut fudge {which may or may not have had edible gold glitter from Paris upon it}, basil and parsley baked ricotta and mulled wine [recipes to follow post haste]. We screened Tarkovsky's The Mirror {which I have yet to watch in it's entirety-there wasn't room for us to sit down so we sat outside the very pretty sandstone venue and sipped lightly spiced wine}. The roof will remain for the rest of the month so we're hosting another film night, probably showing some sort of documentary. I love Man on a Wire but I suspect a lot of people have already seen it. It has been suggested we might watch the documentary on 'objectum sexuals.' Or maybe mushrooms. I love mushrooms and have them growing in a box under the stairs. I am about to harvest my second crop of them. The taste and texture of home grown mushrooms is pretty delightful. And they grow so quickly! One day you have tiny little pins and the next gorgeous mushroom domes.

a still from Man on a Wire {swoon}

a very dark shot of verte

verte twigs and wall

verte vines and roses

tiny beginnings

This is a story a lovely stranger told me the other day: a tiny yellow-green domesticated canary appeared in his doorway one morning so he picked it up and carried it about weaving a path from house to house in an expanding spiral, trying to find where it belonged. Along the way one neighbour gave him a cardboard box so the little creature would be more comfortably housed during their journey. Another person gave him some bird seed {one of those strange bell-shaped honey-laden seed things, I’d like to imagine} and another gave a little bowl of water for the bird and a cup of tea for the human. He didn’t end up finding the canary’s home but had a splendid day and ended up keeping the bird who doesn’t have a name yet but has become good friends with his {apparently quite pompous} pink galah, Spartacus.

I really like it when people who you don’t know terribly well tell you stories like this and you’re not quite sure why they are telling you but you’re certainly glad they did.

window sill, your light is pretty {in winter}